


Tell Me Your Weakness, Oh I Keep It A Secret

by iamtheleftbrain



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate History, Ancient Greece, Ancient History, M/M, Queer History
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-10-01 16:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamtheleftbrain/pseuds/iamtheleftbrain
Summary: Crowley started as an angel and ended up in love.





	Tell Me Your Weakness, Oh I Keep It A Secret

**Author's Note:**

> No idk what this is. Yes I wrote it at 4am. No i did not proofread. Yes i wrote this instead of writing an essay for government. I enjoy History. I am Gay. I have Rights. Give me attention.

Sometime before the beginning of the world, there was a red headed angel with glowing freckles and the most beautiful white wings.

He was one of God's favorites, and he knew it.

The advantage of being well-liked by the creator of everything never got to the angels head. The creator was loved unconditionally by this angel, he loved her with everything in his being, more than anything. As what was expected of God's ethereal beings. He did his duties without mistake or grievance. But without  _ questions _ , was a different story. 

He noticed that every angel he'd been working with weren't inquisitive at all. They didn't wonder why they were doing this or saying this or believing in that. All he wanted was an answer to some basic questions. They weren't a big deal.

"Why?" He asked one day. This surprised the angels and even God herself. She had not expected this question to come so late, she was expecting it much, much earlier. 

The fiery angel was practically shaking with fear for asking this question. Every upper and lower class angel had their eyes on him. He had done something no other angel had. He asked a question that he thought he was entitled to. It was a simple one, but it tested God's intentions. 

"Why what?" God asked.

"Why are we doing this? What are preparing and what for?" The angel started. He had kept many questions locked away, and he was about to spill.

Our angel was one of the few angels who had actually seen God. Face to light. Face to obscurity.

"You'll learn, my being. Be patient." This was as much of an answer he was going to get. He said his apologies and left God to her secrets… for awhile at least.

One day, the higher up angels were perfecting one of God's ideas. Planets. They were all mindlessly at work when our angel caught a glimpse of a certain pale lower class angel. 

The angel had pale blue eyes all over his body. Tens of them. Big and small. Our angel had something similar to this. His pale yellow eyes had duplicates on both of his freckled hands. They always remained open while the other angels' were closed. 

Now, everything in Heaven, as you can guess, was angelic. However, not many angels in heaven were very  _ nice. _ So, this angel stuck out to our red head as the most raw, angelic thing he'd seen. His voice was like a chorus. He smiled like he really believed God created a nice plan for everything.

The angel has pale yellow hair, pale skin, pale freckles, pale pale pale. A white glow surrounded him, it was more intense than the others 

"Get back to work," One of the angels told ours. 

Crowley didn't look away from this monument of an angel, "Are we allowed to talk to the other angels?" 

"There you go again. Asking questions when you don't need an answer. No," the archangel Gabriel said, "no fraternizing with the lower class angels."

Our angel hated that word.  _ Fraternizing _ .

From that day our angel tried to talk to his angel, but was continuously unsuccessful. He learned his name however, Aziraphale. He quite liked that. Straight heavenly sounding, that name. 

Eventually, the questions became too bothersome for the other archangels. 

Our angel was sitting with the other important angels, playing with his white, silk robe while the others discussed business. They often ignored our angel during these meetings, so he stopped trying. 

Something had begun in our angels body and it wasn't very good. It started with little sparks. Then it started to burn. It was frightening to say the least. Angels didn't feel pain. But this was excruciating. It felt as if his wings were being ripped from his shoulder blades on a microscopic level. The nerves were being pulled apart, one by one. 

The pain went in so deep our angel couldn't do much of anything other than let it happen. 

Our angel let out a guttural scream as his angel companions watched with blank expressions. They all agreed for this to happen. "Too many questions," one angel remarked.

"You should've known better," said another.

"I hope you've learned your lesson."

Our angel finished a third bloodied scream to tell them, "you bastards. Call yourselves angels, but ain't nothin' angelic about the lot of you." He was crying, somehow. Very uncommon for angels.

Gabriel smiled. "Rot in hell,  _ Crawley _ ."

Crawley blinked. He was falling. Fire was burning on the tip of his wings and were spreading quickly. In its path, it charred his beautiful white wings. They turned black and ashy. His freckles were sizzling off, and his yellow irises expanded and covered the white of his eye. A small black slit formed in them, he couldn't see well. Everything was a different color or completely exempt from color all together. He was crying out God's name.

"I believed in you!" He finally said, and he hit hell.

-

Crawley did what he was told in hell. He thought he might be able to keep his head down, earn a spot back up in heaven. 

It became very obvious very quickly that Crawley was a demon to his core, and will remain so until the end of time and after that. He was respected in hell. The archangel that was cast out for defying God Herself. It didn't matter to them what had gotten Crawley to damned, they made up their own theories. 

God created Earth and humans without Crawley. She created food and nature and water. She created a rule, and it was Crawley who was meant to destroy it. Don't eat the apple.

He had gotten word that an angel was meant to guard the Garden of Eden, but he needn't worry about him.

"Who'sssss the angel?" Crawley asked. He had to get used to this snake tongue. 

"Principality Aziraphale," Hastur said, "What kind of name is that, anyway? you need to stay on Earth and watch him. Create some atrocities." 

"For how long?" 

"Until the world blows up in God's smug face." 

"Alrighty." Crawley looked at the ground.

Crawley slithered up the Garden of Eden's wall. It was him. The angel he had seen from his time up in the clouds. He was as beautiful as he remembered, but without the eyes. Crawley changed into a human form before the angel had seen him. He didn't want to scare him off. He wasn't sure if he'd remember him as an angel or know him entirely as a demon.

Crawley said, "Well, that went down like a lead balloon." 

-

Crawley had once created a small bit of the universe. He created the nebulas, black holes, super novas, and thought it'd be cool to have rings of loose rocks called asteroid belts. Someone had stolen the idea after Crawley fell. 

He isn't bitter. 

Crawley took his time picking the colors, the organic shapes, the purposes, and the chaotic nature of them. He loved creating things for the universe and for God. He loved that he had full creative range. His powers were limited, but he hadn't been able to find the end of it. 

Crawley had done things on Earth that neither Heaven or Hell  _ or Aziraphale  _ knew about. In hindsight, Crawley thought, Aziraphale probably knew, but didn't want to embarrass him. 

He was responsible for the Seven Wonders of the World. 

The humans helped a bit, but it took a little demonic persuasion and magic to help get things started. 

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon were his favorite. It sparked his interest in plants. Of course, he didn't start 'talking' to his plants until the late 70's. He snapped his fingers and there were shrubs, flowers, and trees surrounding and engorging the architecture of Babylon. Their colors were so bright, vivid. It reminded him of a Supernova, in a way. 

Crawley took Aziraphale here once. Just to see how he liked it. Around 600 B.C.

"Can you believe humans have such incredible minds that they can do this, Crawley? All by themselves…" Aziraphale was breathless. He truly loved humans.

"What makes you say they did it by themselves?"

"Heaven had no involvement with this. I don't think _your _lot would have either, I mean _really? _Look at all these beautiful flowers and greenery. No evil underwires within miles," Aziraphale held onto a leaf that was the size of him. Crawley snapped that into existence just a few weeks before this. Aziraphale didn't catch that evil was right next to him.

"Hm. No, seems pretty evil to me. Be careful here, angel. You might fall." 

Aziraphale looked at him now. Crawley felt exposed, but he looked back. The angels face moved ever so slightly. A timer was tick, tick, ticking away in the angels mind. He understood. 

"Ah," he said, "yes. Well, it'd be pretty hard for me to fall." 

"Don't say that. I sure fell quickly." Crawley watched as Aziraphale commanded hundreds of butterflies to fly in from all corners of heaven and enjoy the nectar of all these new flowers. 

"I'd like to hear the story one day," Aziraphale said, "when you're ready."

"I'll never be ready, angel," Crawley snapped.

"That's okay." He smiled at a butterfly landing on Crawley's head.

-

Crawley also had a big helping hand with the building and destruction of the Statue of Zeus in Olympia. The sculptor, Phidias believed Crawley to be half demon, half angel. His demonic-ness was his red hair, and angelic-ness were his powers. According to the sculptor.

Phidias had caught him one day using his powers for such and such. Crawley doesn't recall what he did, but it was something significant enough to get caught. He could've just erased his memory, went back in time and prevented him from seeing it, but he was a kind, old man who simply wanted to know what the Gods looked like. Of course, Crawley didn't know, but he thought he'd humor the man. 

"Well, he only covers himself with one long piece of cloth," Crawley suggested, "and he has this great, big beard that goes to his chest. Handsome as all get out. Built like a beast… everywhere."

"Ah," said Phidias, "that explains it." 

And so the statue was built. 

Crowley helped Phidias with some things. Such as moving the ebony, ivory, and other valuable stones. He helped make the stone easier to sculpt. He helped get him new tools. All while being spoiled by Phidias. Aziraphale was off doing angelic things until Crawley asked him to come with him to see the statue when it was finished. Aziraphale dropped everything.

"It's a wonder, Aziraphale." Crawley told him.

Crawley was scolded for helping with such a monument. He was told to destroy it, and kill the man who built it. 

He slithered up to an Emperor with a big ego and hissed in his ear, "Statues of Godssss. Sshould be your head on those shouldersss." 

The Emperor Caligula wholeheartedly agreed, and sent his men out to retrieve any statue of the Gods and send them to him. He'd remove their heads and replace them with his own.

Meanwhile, Phidias was in prison and Crawley put his middle finger and thumb together. The sculptor fell dead.

Aziraphale took note of everything happening with Crawley's statue, of which he was so proud. While the Emperor was planning this attack of statues, the angel tried to get the attention of Crawley, but the demon wouldn't have it. He had murdered his friend and his statue was about to be defaced. He wanted to be alone.

Aziraphale snapped, literally, and Caligula was assassinated.

However, the humans were hell-bent on having this wonder fall to the ground. Another Emperor, called Theodosius I, called to ban and close the temples. The statue was left abandoned to the elements and thieves.

-

There were things in history that made Crowley's skin crawl. Stuff that just churned your stomach for years after you see it. He keeps having this mentality that he's desensitized now. That he's a demon and tragedies are his end goals. Mass murders, war, and crimes against humanity were something to strive for. He couldn't help but be sickened by God's creatures sometimes.

Even he wouldn't take credit for some of these wicked acts that humans preformed. The Holocaust, King Leopold II, Slavery, etc. He was there for all of it, he's quite well traveled. 

And Aziraphale was by his side throughout all of it. 

"Your side didn't do this?" Aziraphale asked. The two, demon and angel, were in The Congo. They were horrified. Downright sickened by these images. 

They weren't meant to meddle, but occasionally the two would have the rubber quota filled, and the Africans were safe for a day.

They were disguised as missionaries, which was very strange sounding to Crowley. 

"No." 

Aziraphale took Crowley's hand in his. The fallen angel knew what he was thinking.  _ Why would God allow this?  _

Be careful, Crowley thought and squeezed the hand in his own, you'll fall. 

-

History is full of triumphs as well as tragedies, don't get it twisted. 

On June 28, 1969, police raided the Stonewall Inn, a known gay sanctuary among the locals. People of all sexualities, presentations, genders, and backgrounds could come in without fear of being turned away.

Police often saw this place as an easy target, and came into such establishments to arrest, humiliate, and brutalize the queer patrons. Crowley and Aziraphale just happened to be there this time. 

They were enjoying each other's company when the raids started. Aziraphale's hand was in Crowley's long hair. Crowley kissed his palms, knuckles, and wrists. They were smiling at each other. Aziraphale couldn't stop kissing everywhere on his companion. They weren't demon and angel that night, but, instead, a couple of queer, gender ambiguous lovers.

Then the boot stomping and the shouting started.

The two were picked up rather quickly. It hadn't been their first raid, but it was the first one where Crowley was wearing a dress and make-up.

He was separated from Aziraphale. They really needn't worry about each other, but it's troubling to be ripped out of anyone's arms.

Their fingers gripped onto the others before Crowley was pulled into the line of transgender women, drag queens, lesbians, and effeminate men. They were checking genitalia. If you had the wrong ones you were arrested. Being in jail for that can only go so well.

Outside, Aziraphale was pushed into the street where a crowd was forming. They were getting angrier and so was the angel. Hostility was in the air.

One young man helped Aziraphale gain his balance after he was shoved again. "This is bullshit, ain't it?" 

Aziraphale watched the door for Crowley, "I'd say so," He whispered. "We should do something. You know what they're doing in there? To the ones in dresses and skirts and makeup?" 

"What?" The young man was scared of the answer. 

"Making them strip down to nothing.  _ Checking _ them. It's disgusting, humiliating." 

The young man made a sound, then disappeared into the crowd. It got louder, and louder, and louder. 

Profanity and reclaimed slurs were being thrown every which way. Then a woman in handcuffs wrestled against the police that held her back. "Why aren't you doing anything?!" She was crying. 

This got the crowd riled up, alright. They were throwing coins, bottles of beer, rocks, anything they could get their hands on. Aziraphale kept the street below them filled with non-deadly ammo. Cops were bewildered at this new resistance. 

Crowley was by Aziraphale, now, with two bottles and no dress. He gave one bottle to the angel and threw one right at the head of the policeman that had dragged the two away from one another. 

"We're here, we're queer, and  _ we're not leaving _ !" The young man that helped Aziraphale earlier, screamed. 

"My lot won't be very pleased with me after this," Crowley said with a smile. He threw a rock. 

"Neither will mine." He held Crowley's hand.

Gay marches, prides, celebrations grew off of this riot, and the two never missed the ones in London. 

-

Crowley and Aziraphale appreciated the domesticity of living in a small cottage outside of Tadfield. 

They acted completely like humans, aside from an occasional miracle or two. 

Crowley had his own duties. He cleaned the kitchen and living room, he cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner (and tried to eat most of his meals), and he drove them to the locally owned grocery store every other weekend. He, also, screamed at their decently sized garden while Aziraphale gets distracted by a book and some loud classical music.

Aziraphale was in charge of cleaning the bathroom (Crowley decided he liked showers. Especially ones that were joined by Aziraphale), bedroom, and the porches. He never really cleaned his office as he liked the feeling of it being dusty and disorganized. He, also, cared and praised their decently sized garden when the former demon takes one of his many midday naps.

Crowley, although a great lover of sleep, would stay up some nights, well into the morning, and watch Aziraphale. He'd watch his belly rise and fall, rise and fall, his hands as he searched for Crowley, and his eyelids tumble around when in a dream.

Crowley was  _ obsessed  _ with Aziraphale's hands. The way his ring would leave an imprint for hours. His skin a bit tanned from the perfect summer, his fingernails at the perfect length and beautifully manicured. The softness to them. Not a single callous on them despite all the work in the garden. 

When Crowley was having a particularly lonesome night, all caught up in consciousness, he'd press Aziraphale's limp hand to his cheek. He was always warm, no matter what. Crowley had a theory that God took inspiration from Aziraphale to create the sun. It made perfect sense to Crowley. 

A beautiful specimen that kept him and everything surrounding him alive. He revolved around the sun, but it was mutual. Him and the sun held hands as they spun.

Crowley was always cold. It's what happens when you're a snake. He can't produce his own body heat, so snuggling up to Aziraphale made perfect sense. Like one of those infrared lamps that you put above your child's reptilian habitat as they're going through a phase. 

Some nights, Crowley wasn't sure if Aziraphale was fully asleep or not. When he'd play with his fingers, Aziraphale would close his hand on Crowley's and bring it up his own face. If Crowley was touching Aziraphale's chest, he'd get pulled closer to him. Maybe it was a sleep instinct or maybe it wasn't.

One morning, around 6am, the morning sun snuck it's way through the curtain. The pairs legs' were tangled together in a knot. 

Crowley was giving small kisses to Aziraphale's palms. He moved to his knuckles, his wrists, and down his arms. He started kissing all over his face, hoping to wake him up.

"Love...," Aziraphale said. 

He slowly cupped Crowley's face in his hands. Aziraphale pulled himself to the others lips, slowly. 

The two were caught up in a long, slow, sleepy kiss as the birds outside sang. They smiled into each other as they continued kissing happily. Crowley took Aziraphale's hand and put it to his cheek.

_ This _ they thought  _ is what being human is. Being completely, utterly flooded in love and happiness. _

**Author's Note:**

> Literally give me attention.


End file.
